


Fab Five Feb 2020

by WhatHaveWeDone



Category: Thunderbirds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatHaveWeDone/pseuds/WhatHaveWeDone
Summary: Prompts and characters are in the chapter titles!Spoilers Possible.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	1. Alan - Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Way back at the beginning of the year Gumnut put together a lovely challenge - Fab Five Feb. I started, but never finished, so I am going to work through the other brothers in order to 1) clear a wip out my folder and 2) get me into writing again for a couple of bigger projects.

“Why are we here again?”

“Because Penny asked us to be.” Gordon answered from across the room, straightening his bow tie in the mirror.

“No, that’s why  _ you’re  _ here. We all know that you would do anything she asked of you. Got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Hey -  “ Gordon began, but was stopped by a stern look from Scott, who was tying the shoelaces on his finest,  shiniest ,  squeakiest pair of shoes. 

“No fighting, not tonight. I can’t deal with that. Besides you know it’s true Gordon.” Gordon went back to his adjustments, silent, yet shooting daggers in Alan’s direction.

“Lady Penelope doesn’t ask much of us, so we are doing her a  favour by attending her party.” Scott told him. “And tuck in your shirt.”

“She doesn’t like it when you call it a party.” Virgil said, looking up from fastening his cufflinks. “It’s a ball. There are going to be ballgowns. It’s in a ballroom. There’s going to be ball music.”

“Ball music isn’t a thing.” Gordon scoffed.

“ Wanna bet?”

“No.”

“No betting.” Scott glared at Virgil. “No dares,” he told Gordon. “You are staying away from the alcohol,” like Alan would even want to drink, it was disgusting. “But you can go crazy on the buffet. And you,” he turned to John who had been leaning against the wall. “No running off.”

John had been the first one ready: tux, tie, shoes – and had spent the last ten minutes fiddling with something on his phone. “I don’t intend to.”

“Not going to come up with some sort of ‘emergency’ which means you need to leave the room full of scary  strangers ?” Gordon goaded, at last finished with the mirror and sweeping on his suit jacket. 

“EOS is monitoring so I don’t have to. And they aren’t strangers. I’ve been through all the invites and know exactly who is attending. No surprises this time.”

“You’ve researched them all?”

“Yep.” John’s gaze was  steely and tone unrepentant. There was going to be no Hood tonight, no plunges to uncertain death.

Alan looked in the mirror, his  brand new tux still crisp and weird smelling. The shirt was slightly too large round the shoulders, the shoes pinching just slightly. His brothers arrayed themselves behind him, all incredibly dashing and confident while he was uncomfortable and awkward. 

Scott put a hand on his shoulder “You’ll do fine Alan. Make small talk, be yourself. Come find any of us if you need to.” He squeezed slightly. “Dad would be proud.”

“I get first dance with Penny!” Gordon yelled, rushing out the room. 

“For  gods sake, don’t  _ run  _ Gordon, we’re meant to be showing a bit of decorum.” Scott yelled after him.

Alan followed his brothers as they filled out of the guest suite, ‘ball music’ - whatever that was – floating down the corridor from the orchestra below, determined to live up to the Tracy name.


	2. Jeff - Flower

Had he ever properly appreciated flowers before? He doesn’t think so. Lucy had never been a cut-flowers and careful arrangements sort of girl, more meadow-of-wildflowers and chaotic clash of  colours , so there hadn’t been many around the house when she was alive, and the necessarily sterility of industrial space ship design and  construction left no place for floral displays at work.

Even when he could, he had never  _ noticed  _ flowers before so, somewhat strangely, they were something he missed desperately during his years away.

The sun pouring over his shoulder, warming his back and casting a deep shadow is a world away from the harsh, cold blue artificial light that he had lived with for far too long: it has been almost shocking when he felt that again for the first time. It gives the flower before him a luminescent quality, a golden aura. 

He plucks the stem – firm, but with a  springyness to it  \- from the plant with a soft but solid  _ snick _ as it comes away, so he can stop crouching, ease his aching knees, and examine the flower properly. 

The petals are soft, velvety, and cool beneath his fingers. He can bend them right back, but there is a strength there that doesn’t let them tear, and he’s not harsh enough to cause them damage, just luxuriating in  it’s flexibility. With the blossom this close he can see that what, at first glance, appeared to be solid red was a patchwork of different hues, stripes and spots that covered the petals in an intricate design. It’s vibrancy and gentle curves, unique amongst the infinite variety that just this single plant offers, is overwhelming compared to the harsh lines and bland surroundings that had come to make up his small, confined, monotonous world. 

The scent – he had almost forgotten anything except metal and fuel – it's heady to breath in the warmth and texture, the smell of pollen promising a meal to the buzzing insects but giving something softer, lighter, more intimate to him, that he is yet to figure out.

“Dad,” A voice yells down from the house above. “You ready for dinner?”

“On my way,” he calls back, letting the bloom drop back to the soil, to begin the slow walk inside, still unused to all this  _ gravity.  _ He has time for more flowers later, time for all of it.


	3. Virgil - Duck

“Duck!”

Virgil flings himself to the ground at the command, crawling on hands and knees for a moment amongst the rubble. His proximity alarm screams in his ear, and the breeze sliding down his neck couldn’t possibly be real, but he still imagines it feels the wind of a girder passing just inches away from his head. He certainly sees it crash beside him to roll and disappear through the broken floorboards, throwing up a fountain of sparks from the fire raging down below.

He spares a glance up, where Gordon is peering through the destroyed upper level, and gives a nod of thanks for the warning, but then is up and running again. There’s a job to do. 


	4. Scott - Crease

Scott doesn't know it, but his thirty-seven distinct  frowns had been observed, evaluated and catalogued over the years.

When facing a particularly complicated rescue it barely touched his eyebrows though his hairline climbed high.

When he’s in pain it’s most pinched in the middle, creasing the whole brow, ear to ear, trailing around the eyes. He wondered how they knew the meds had worn off, when it’s stamped across his whole face.    
The worst one, they’d all agree, only surfaced -scrunching down his nose- when one of the others was hurt. The current frown, a limp hand resting in his.


	5. Gordon - Speakers

“Gordon? Gordon, please respond!”

This deep there is little natural light: what there is filters through fathoms of cold ocean, bringing a tinge of that darkness with it as it creeps through the cracked glass. Some might find the pressure and silence of isolation oppressive, but Gordon finds the stillness peaceful.

The hum of Four’s engines putter, valiantly struggling to maintain life support, most other systems abandoned. Communications are, for a wonder, still functional – if barely – spluttering static through the tiny cabin to it’s lone occupant. Normally crisp and clear, the damaged equipment shrieks and crackles, going unanswered. Going unheard.


	6. John - Soft Caress

John storms furiously to the space elevator, not even sparing a glance for his morning coffee and bagel, sitting uneaten and at least eighteen hours cold in the kitchen.

“What the actual hell did you think you were doing?” he is yelling as soon as Scott is in sight, relaxing on the couches. The nerve of him to be so laid back about this!

“I was rescuing people.” Scott puts down his book with a roll of his eyes. 

“By almost getting  _ yourself  _ killed, and giving  _ me  _ a heart attack.” John could  _ feel _ his blood pressure rising, the grip of a gravity headache squeezing either side of his temples.

“It was fine.”

“Its. Not. Fine. Do you know how much that girder missed you by? Seven inches.”

“Then I timed it just right.” 

“Gah Scott! Why can’t you understand that functionally - mathematically  \- seven inches in that environment  is nothing. It’s a god damn rounding error and just because you got away with it this time doesn’t mean that -” he pauses for a second, a wave of dizziness hitting him from nowhere. He swallows thickly. “It doesn’t mean that you can pull stupid stunts like that. I can’t -”

He’s hot all over, suddenly sweating. “I can’t -” Has someone turned up the heat? He blinks heavily and the whole room recedes. He’s looking down the wrong end of a telescope with cotton wool stuffed in his ears because he’s sure Scott is saying something but can’t make it out. Can’t even see him properly all the way over there, dark walls narrowing his vision to that far point. “I can’t - I can’t - ”

* * *

John’s rage may be white hot, and scalding when you’re the only one in  it’s path but Scott isn’t quite ready to concede yet, more than willing to defend his actions that saved lives. He raises one eyebrow questioningly as John stops, wavering, and his concern increases when John starts to slur, blood draining from his face. 

“John? Are you ok?” He reaches out, but isn’t quite quick enough – or close  enough - to catch him as John’s eyes roll up and he crashes to the floor in a heap, narrowly missing hitting his head on the step.

“John?” Scott leans over, taps his cheeks for a reaction. “John? Can you hear me? Damn it.”

Scott grabs a medical kit and hooks the portable scanner into John’s suit. What he sees makes him sigh deeply, but relax. Not a stroke or a heart attack, but a massive rise then  drop in blood pressure, –  reentry no doubt  \- and shockingly low blood sugar levels. 

He rolls John into the recovery  position, just to be  safe, and crawls round to stuff a cushion under his head. 

“Hope you’re not going to be too bruised after that, but serves you right for yelling at me.” Scott runs a gentle hand through John’s hair, pushing it back from his brother's forehead, making sure it still lies neatly. John always likes his hair just  so, as he would hate to make a bad first impression on someone calling for help. 

Colour slowly seeps back into John’s cheeks, his brow creases in a frown and his eyes crack open. Unsurprisingly, John picks up his rant where he left off, muttering “I can’t do this without you.”

“When did you last eat? Breakfast I’m guessing?” Scott asks, as John pushes himself slowly upright, understanding a few minutes behind  consciousness . 

“I....  errr I  _ started  _ breakfast. Then we had a call and - ”

“I get it, come on” Scott hauls John to his feet, steading him under the arm when he sways, just slightly. “I’ll make you bacon and eggs so you have enough energy to tell me how much of an idiot I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it! Fab Five Feb 2020 completed before Feb 2021, yay, go me!


End file.
